Underwood Memory, Circa 1975

If we leave the path we started on, can we find our way back -- even after thirty years?

My most sacred childhood memories are of writing-- sitting in the backyard under the trees with my dad's old underwood typewriter, from his childhood. I can't remember any more blissful moments than those. Hours spent spinning stories in my mind and then tapping them out, letter by letter, with the summer wind blowing loose strands of my hair across my face. I was usually,no, I was always in my pajamas, and I did not want to be disturbed. I had no need of adventure or friendsip on these days, no need for sustenance of any kind. The ink and words fed me, and I felt alive, awake every second my fingers were touching those keys.

what happened? where am I? When did I diverge?

[Word: Diverge
Function: verb
Inflected Form(s): di·verged; di·verg·ing
Etymology: Medieval Latin divergere, from Latin dis- + vergere to incline -- 1 a : to move or extend in different directions from a common point : draw apart b : to become or be different in character or form : differ in opinion 2 : to turn aside from a path or course ]

But I digress.

I want that again. I want that living in the 'pitch that is near madness'. I want the knowing I had back then. I want the deep peace of knowing who I am. How did I have it at nine, ten and not now? I feel words stirring somewhere very deep, almost imperceptibly, like they are cells dividing. I'm waiting for them. I don't know when they will come or what they will say. But I feel expectant. And ready.

I scroll the paper into place and wait.

So...Why Are We Here Again?

I recently sent out an email message to friends asking what they thought about the whole 'why are we here'question. I got a great quote back from my friend Jason. It's by Kurt Vonnegut:

'To help each other through this thing, whatever it is.'

Boy that says it, doesnt it? That's all I'm actually certain of myself...the helping each other and the 'whatever it is.' I mean, who really knows? There are those of us who feel a certainty about what this is all about but, come on, how can we have any certainty? We can't. We can have faith or hope in something we really want to be true, but there is no way to prove our individual beliefs. So why do so many try to? Why are there wars being fought right now based on differences in belief? I'll never get that. You can try to explain it to me -- many have. But I will never ever comprehend it. Not in this life.

I wish the rest of humanity were content with all the big question marks. Why do there have to be answers? Can't kindness be our religion? Can't gratitude be our hymn? Is there room for self-sacrifice in our dogma? Penance, if you really need that kind of thing, could be a smile: a genuine one. What about a temple of trees and sky....big enough to hold ALL our gods? A shrine of living people, doing good deeds, a sacred text of silence, unwritten, holding only promise and expectation as its commandments. A jihad of blissful, indiscriminate giving. ....

Don't get me wrong, I am a believer: a 'Believer' with a capital 'B' - a believer in a Greater Being who is LOVE, who once walked this earth in human form, a believer in goodness and kindness and souls that live forever and are part of a Oneness we can't always see here. But this is just my point of view, and I certainly can't prove it. I can offer evidence from my own life, but that's it. And I have room for others' points of view. That's what makes this whole experience so fascinating......all of us seeing a different side to the Elephant, no one seeing the whole. I like that.

I wish there were more room for differences. I wish we all reveled in unanswerable questions.

Guten Morgen Deutschland!

So, Anastasia and I are on our first big trip (aside from Russia, that is.) We left home on the afternoon of August 31st, My friend Carley drove us, and Anastasia was surprisingly talkative with her, asking questions about her daughters Kate & Jayne. At Logan, we boarded out flight to Philly, after having to ditch our water bottles and hand cream ( stupid terrorists!). Anastasia threw a little fit for the security people, but I managed to distract her before they booted us from security!

Philly airport is surprisingly large. It took us about forty minutes to walk to terminal A for our flight to Germany. Anastasia does not like walking, so you can imagine the whining. Then, as if the gods were in a mischievous mood, our flight was delayed. And delayed. And, again, delayed.
We ended up in the air at about 8:45pm and had a fitful, uncomfortable ride the whole way. Anastasia was not happy - she hated the food, the people seated behind us, the constant interruptions for food and drinks. She finally nodded off fifteen minutes before we landed.

We landed in Frankfurt at 8am on the 1st (yesterday) and my brother Jim met us in baggage claim. Our plan was to drive straight to the Czech Republic, where my sister-in-law was waiting with Tommy ( my nephew). Jim would stop at a few places along the way for Anastasia to see. First stop was Wurzburg to visit a castle that sits high above the city. At the outdoor cafe there, Anastasia ate her weight is sausages..lol. My brother was great with her and they had alot of fun teasing each other. We then left and drove another four hours, and finally hit the Czech border. Anastasia was excited to get her passport stamped. Finally we arrived in Pilsen where we headed to Jana's dad's house. Tommy was so excited to see us! Soon we'll head to the campground where we'll be staying, in a little log cabin!

Black Cloud

It's been awhile....sorry. But as no one but I really reads this blog, it doesn't really matter.

I'm struggling with depression again. It sucks. I hate it.

I thought I would outgrow it by 40, but no luck. It is like this black mass that comes out of nowhere and disrupts my life. Life is even quite good right now. I have nothing to complain about. Raising a child with RAD takes its toll, yes, but this is not about that. It's deeper. This sadness comes and sits on my heart and I can't breathe. All day I tried to battle it. When I woke feeling lost, I went back to sleep. I slept till noon. Then I tried praying, meditating, but the words in my heart were all dismal and darkening and I could not seem to escape it. I tried going online, reading blogs that make me happy, but it only served to highlight the chasm I feel between my life and the peaceful life that others live. So, I finally did what always helps....I got comfort food and over-ate.

Where is my help? Where is God? I feel locked inside myself. I need air.

Eulogy

My dad died on Father's Day 2005. I'm thinking of him today. Here is the eulogy I gave for him at the funeral mass:

Hi Dad. I know you’re there, because you’ve told me a thousand times you’d be sitting in the last row at Immaculate, making sure we gave you a good send-off. I hope you approve so far. It’s hard to top you, but we’re trying. Well, Dad, I want to tell all the people here about you. The you I knew. I had forty years with you, so I count myself very lucky….of course, Danny had almost as many, but since age is a sore point for him, we won’t go there. So Dad, sit back and enjoy… and everyone else, listen up.

My dad was a pirate. Not many kids get to be raised by a pirate, so I know it was a very special experience, and it's one that needs to be shared. I loved my dad fiercely, and as you all know, we were a lot alike. My dad loved a good story -- and a good fight-- and so did I. We spent the better part of my adolescence trying to see who could raid whose ship the most…and, of course, who won the right to be captain. Dad, I’m going to swallow my inherited Irish pride here in front of all your friends and confess that, despite my fighting it to the death sometimes, you always managed to keep your crew in their place.

But what a time we had! Growing up with a pirate for a dad means lots of adventures, lots of storytelling, and lots of chances to prove our bravery to the captain. I remember the summer nights we used to spend walking through Greenlawn Cemetary with you, Uncle Jim, Mark and Krissy.

' I’ll give you fifty cents if you go up and kiss that gravestone, all by yourself,' you’d say with a grin. Uncle Jim would always double it to a dollar, so we’d fight our fear left and right to get it. I’m proud to say I always took the challenge. I scared myself half to death, but I never let you know that. We spent a lot of time there, which is funny, because now a part of you will be spending a lot of time there. You used to say “I want that spot, right down by the water.”

“But dad, that’s so spongy. They can’t put a coffin there.”

“Sure they can. I’ll just slip out and go swimming every night” you’d insist. I have to admit, I loved imagining that as a child – you swimming with the fishes. It gave me a peace that you would never really die.

Now that you’re on the other side, I guess I can finally tell some of those funny stories without you getting in trouble. Like: remember how you used to have us duck under the seats of the sheriff’s car to drive us on errands? You hated the traffic on North Street, so we’d hide and you’d light up the siren, and we’d laugh all the way there and back. And remember all those times you'd take us out of school to see the best movies on opening day: Star Wars, Jaws, Indiana Jones? You understood that some things were just a little more important than school.

How did you manage to make everything such an adventure? And you never minded the odd dozen extra kids along for the ride. In fact, I can’t remember much of my childhood without Mark or Krissy there, the Huuskonens, Mark Tuttle, or Brim and Craig . Our house was really just a massive pirate ship where the captain always had room for more crew.

And you had no problem forcing your crew into slave labor: weeding the yard, carting boxes in and out of the screen-house and cellar. We hated it, but every one of us can thank you for our tireless work-ethic.

( I wrote more here to sum things up, but I lost the draft, and forget how I ended it!I'll add it if I ever find the ending!)

Anyway, I miss you Dad.

A bit about me, thanks to Nani's Moon

I really love browsing all the unschooling blogs. I'm quite addicted. I feel like they are the grown-ups I'm looking up to, hoping for support and encouragement. I haven't started unschooling yet in the strictest sense. It's a dream right now, but I'm working towards it. Anyway, one of the blogs I love, called Nani's moon, has posted a series of questions for anyone who reads her blog. Here are my answers:

1. Name? FaerieMama..... on blogspot, anyway!

2. Were you named after anyone? No, my Dad wanted an Irish name and picked it, and my mom was fine with it.

3. Are you married? Nope. Never. Not sure if I ever will be...only if I meet a man who loves children as much as I do, and is committed to being a dad to mine!

4. When did you last cry?Last night, watching my grandmother's sister dance with her husband at her 90th birthday.

5. Do you like your handwriting?I used to, but now its not so great because of arthritis...grrrr.

6. What is your favorite lunch? Probably a tuna sandwich with cucumbers and sprouts, on a bagel.

7. Where is your favorite place to eat lunch out? Local place on the beach. You can feed the seagulls your scraps :)

8.Names and ages of kids: Anastasia, adopted May 2005, she's now 13.

9.If you were another person would you be friends with you? If I could ever get a hold of me, yes.

10. Do you have a journal? Piles of them, real and virtual.

11. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Only when I'm in a really good mood.

12. Would you bungee jump? I did once, on New Year's Even 1999...but never ever again .

13. What is your favorite cereal? Not a cereal girl, sorry.

14. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? I don't wear shoes with ties :)

15. Do you think that you are strong? No, I know I am.

16. What is your favorite ice cream? Coffee with reese's peanut butter cups mixed in.

17. Favorite TV Show? Don't watch much, but...anything on BBC suits me.

18. Red or Pink? Neither. How about periwinkle?

19. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? MY A.D.Dness. I wish it didn't affect my life so much.

20..Who do you miss most? My Dad. alot.

21. Do you want everyone you send this to send it back? Sure, though I'm not sending it out.

22. What color pants and shoes are you wearing? black flowy yoga pants and bare feet.

24. What are you listening to right now? My daughter humming to herself while she draws.

25. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Black, since it is all colors.

26. Last person you got an e-mail from?My friend Kim Conzo! It made me happy :)

27. Favorite Drink? Raspberry iced tea.

28. Favorite Sport to Watch? The squirrels trying to empty the birdfeeder.

29. Hair Color? Very dark brown, almost black. Sister Julian called me Ravenhair, which I loved.

30. Eye Color? Brown.

31. Do you wear contacts? Nope. nor glasses.

32. Favorite Food? chocolate.

33. Scary Movies or Happy Endings? Definitely, Happy endings .

34. Last movie you watched? Amelie, for the third time...

35. Favorite Day of the Year: The one where I'm the happiest.

36. Summer or winter? Summer.

37. Hugs or Kisses? Hugs.

38. Favorite dessert? My Grammy's brownies.

39. Furthest you've been from home: Siberia...three times this year...yikes.

OK, after this I lost interest and cut out the rest of the questions.... Nitey Nite!

Nana

I'm listening to thirties music today. I don't know why I love it so much. It reminds me of my Dad and my Nana, and I can picture sitting on the porch in her cottage by the sea whenever I listen. Or sometimes I think about my dad as a kid, huddled in a corner of his cellar on Lafayette Street, listening to his dad's collection of 78s. He said he used to wear gloves and a scarf and sit down there for hours listening to Hoagy Carmichael, Count Basie and Benny Goodman. I don't know why I love those guys so much, but when I hear music from that era it puts me in this really great place: content, buoyant, productive...I get alot of cleaning and laundry done! I can also hear my dad whistling the tunes when he would work in the garden.

I'm heading to a family reunion of sorts in an hour. My Nana's little sister is turning 90. I haven't seen her in twenty years. All these cousins are attending, people I haven't seen in decades as well as people I had only heard my dad talk about over the years: Orlo Ellis, Sister Kathleen, Ruth Hereford.... I'm feeling very pensive about it. It's strange that it's almost a year to the day after my dad died. I wish he were going with me.I'm glad I'll be able to talk with people that loved him. I think my friends and students get tired of hearing me talk about him all the time. Oh, the photo above is of my Nana, Mabel Veronica, taken when she was my age (41). I think she's beautiful.